


band-aids have healing magic

by drunkonyou



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blood and Injury, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Fluff, They/Them Pronouns for Party Poison (Danger Days)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonyou/pseuds/drunkonyou
Summary: Fun Ghoul is an independent Killjoy who don’t need no man (to fix his boo-boos).
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	band-aids have healing magic

**Author's Note:**

> just a little ficlet based off [this](https://twitter.com/worrydariing/status/1330613630493143041?s=21) thread for danger days’ 10th birthday!! happy birthday baby!!!
> 
> (i haven't read any killjoys fics or the comics yet so expect something better from me in the near future when i finally Do)

The girl runs out to greet them right when they pull up in front of the diner, despite having told her a million and a half times to stay put until they give her the all-clear. But everyone’s too tired to chastise her for it.

Ghoul climbs out of the backseat, hand pressed to his face that throbs like a beating heart. He watches as the girl grabs onto Party’s door when they open it and bounces up and down on her feet. Sometimes she acts like the little kid she is, and it always lifts his heart some.

“How’d it go?” she asks, and lets go of the car door when Party slams it shut. They tousle her frizzy hair before walking past silently.

“It was okay,” Jet tells her instead when he climbs out, and squeezes her tiny shoulder. They never tell her any more, never any less. Sometimes she just has to be a kid.

“Ghoul got a little banged up.” Kobra slaps him on the back on his way to the trunk. Party’s already in the diner; Ghoul can just see their muted outline through the door.

He waves his hand dismissively as he rounds the car. The girl looks up at him with her huge brown eyes and stares open-mouthed. “I’m fine. Drac pistol-whipped me, that’s all.”

Somewhere at the back of the car, Kobra cackles. If the girl wasn’t here, Ghoul would shove his face into the dirt until he screamed _uncle._

Jet tuts, his hand like an anchor on the girl’s head while she holds onto his belt. He’s grimy and shiny with sweat, they all are, despite having rinsed off before leaving this afternoon, but she doesn’t even care. She’d be all over Ghoul right now if he wasn’t hurt. _“Pistol-whipped_ is a bit of an understatement.”

“Yeah, we could see your not-so-pearly whites,” Kobra says as he slams the trunk shut. He picks up their box of supplies and heads into the diner too.

 _“What?”_ the girl says, her mouth dropping open and her freckled nose wrinkling in a sort of grotesque fascination. “Let me see!”

And here Ghoul thought she was _worried_ about him.

“No, keep pressure on it—” Jet tells him, but Ghoul is already peeling his hand away from his face, wincing as his torn skin sticks to his palm.

“Oh, _sick!”_ the girl crows, jumping a little and taking Jet’s arm with her. Jet makes a sound like he’s about to toss his guts.

Ghoul’s cheek feels ten times it’s regular size, and the dry desert heat is the fucking worst on an open wound. He wipes his hand on his pants.

“Please go inside and let one of us fix that,” Jet pleads.

Ghoul rolls his eyes and ignores the way he can almost taste the sandy air through the gash. “Kid, go grab the first-aid kit.”

The girl claps her dirty little hands together and slips out from beneath Jet’s.

“What? I thought it was in the car.”

Ghoul crouches down to inspect the damage in the side-view mirror and _damn,_ if he didn’t think it‘d do some real harm, he’d whistle. Kobra was right about being able to see his teeth. He pokes at his cheek with a single dirt-encrusted fingernail. “I left it with the girl. Told her to memorize everything in it.”

Jet can’t really argue with that. He sighs and Ghoul sees him cross his arms over his chest out of the corner of his eye.

“Here you go, Funny!” The girl skids to a stop next to Ghoul, kicking up dirt. She holds out the battered first-aid kit.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing it out _here_. _”_ Jet’s voice goes up another octave.

Ghoul flicks his eyes to him and gives him what he hopes is a smile. “If you don’t like it, go inside. I’m sure those two chuckleheads wouldn’t mind another hand for inventory.” He can feel blood start to run down his chin; no wonder Party told him to keep his mouth shut on the drive back.

Jet drops his hands to his sides and digs his boots a little defiantly into the dusty ground. “Someone who’s older than _six_ needs to supervise.”

Even the girl doesn’t object to that. She’s a smart one.

Ghoul drops to his knees and flips open the metal box. He sifts through it until he finds a curved needle and some thread. The girl sits cross-legged and watches him silently. Jet is also blessedly silent until he starts threading the needle.

“You’re going to sterilize that,” he says, deadpan, “right?”

Ghoul only raises an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Funny, I swear on my gun.”

“Hey,” both him and the girl say at the same time.

“Only I can call him that,” she tells Jet over her shoulder. Ghoul tries his damndest not to smile again. It hurts too damn much.

When the needle is threaded he feels out the torn edges of his skin with his sweaty fingers and sticks the sharp end in. The pain isn’t bad, the pinprick sensation nothing after knowing what piercings feel like, and it’s practically drowned out by the deep throbbing he’s felt since leaving. The gash is small, despite the fact that it’s a hole in his face where a hole shouldn’t be, so no more than five minutes had to have passed when he’s making a knot and biting the thread to break it.

“Wow,” the girl says like she’s looking at the coolest thing in the world. “Did that hurt?”

He can’t help the smile this time, and he winces with it. “No, but that did.”

She giggles. Jet’s standing behind her like a sentry, and he’s looking a little green around the gills.

“See?” Ghoul says, throwing the bloodied needle into the box and latching it shut. “All good.” He finds a smoke in his pocket and lights it with his disgusting, bloody fingers.

Jet makes a strangled noise and stomps off towards the diner.

Snorting, Ghoul sticks the smoke into the left side of his mouth and sucks on it. He admires his work in the dirty mirror, turning his head this way and that. He pokes his tongue at the stitches from the inside.

“Okay.” The girl stands and tugs on his sleeve. “I’m hungry.”

As if it heard her, his stomach lets out a growl. She giggles again.

Ghoul gets to his feet and picks up the first-aid kit, smearing rusty-colored blood across the dented metal, and puts his other hand on the back of her head.

Kobra and Jet already have a couple cans of kibble out on the table and are working on busting them open. Party isn’t anywhere to be found.

“Hey,” Kobra says when Ghoul flicks his smoke away and shuts the door behind them. “Looking more like your mask every day, Ghoulio.”

Concern wrinkles Jet’s dusty forehead when he looks him over. “At least wash the blood off.”

Ghoul rolls his eyes. He does that a lot when it comes to Jet. “Yes, _Mom._ C’mon, kiddo.”

He herds the girl into the bathroom and they take turns washing up at the sink. When he’s fixing his hair in the cracked mirror, she punches his leg until he picks her up so she can fix hers too, although it doesn’t do much. When they go back out into the diner, the girl on his hip and her little arms around his neck, Party is sitting next to Kobra, tucked in against the window. They don’t even look at him. Ghoul tries not to take it to heart; they always get kind of broody and annoying after any sort of mission. Even more annoying than usual, anyway.

Ghoul deposits the girl next to Jet, who scoots in to make room for her on the bench, and he pulls up the chair with the cracked vinyl seat.

He’s about to dig into his can of dog shit Jet just pushed over to him when the girl startles everyone by screaming, “Oh, wait!”

They all watch with raised eyebrows as she digs around in her plethora of pockets, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Finally she finds whatever she was looking for, and they all lean towards her a little to see. But she holds it beneath the table.

At the crinkle of plastic, Kobra perks up. “Is that candy? Are you holding out on us?”

The girl giggles. _“No._ I won’t tell you where I hide my candy.”

Party actually smiles at that.

A wrapper is set on the table, and the girl stands up, balancing herself on Jet’s shoulder. Jet puts a big, steadying hand on her hip. She turns to Ghoul and brandishes an old Snoopy Band-Aid.

“Come here,” she instructs seriously, and Ghoul does as he’s told. She peels off the little pieces of plastic on the back and presses the Band-Aid across his tender and seriously sore cheek with the tips of her sticky fingers. Honestly, how is she sticky already? _Kids._

“There!” She puts her fists on her hips, jabbing Jet’s fingers with her bony knuckles. “Band-Aids have healing magic.”

Kobra _aw’s_ around a forkful of kibble. Party goes all flushed and happy-looking, which only seems to happen around the girl.

“See, Jet?” She turns around on the bench, and Jet holds onto her stick-thin legs a little tighter. “I made him better.”

“You sure did. Now sit down before I have a stroke. There we go, _thank you.”_

Party catches Ghoul’s eye across the table and smiles again. Finally they seem to be thawing out.

After dinner, when Kobra’s outside doing some work on the car and Jet and the girl are cleaning up their mess while singing some terrible song, Party finds Ghoul while he’s scrubbing blood from his jacket.

“You look like me now,” they say, gesturing to Ghoul’s face. “You know— Crooked.”

Ghoul huffs a laugh and licks his lips carefully. The tip of his tongue flicks the edge of the Snoopy Band-Aid and he laughs again. “That’s unfortunate. I’ll have to talk like you too until this thing heals.” Party grins shyly and looks down at their feet. Ghoul watches them, the way their fire-red hair trails over their forehead. “Why are you pissed at me?”

Party looks up, their eyes wide. They frown. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“We all scare the shit out of each other all the time, man.” He scratches at his jaw. “What’s so different now?”

He thinks he knows, actually.

Party sucks their bottom lip into their mouth. They’ve got something more to say, it’s written all over their face, but they just pat Ghoul’s chest and step back. “Just… Stop being stupid.”

“I’ll stop being stupid when you stop being an asshole,” he shoots back, grinning his new lopsided grin, and Party walks away, shaking their head a little.

The girl catches his eye across the diner and gives him a double thumbs up. He returns it enthusiastically. 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/worrydarIing)


End file.
